Today's been a sepia-toned day.
I feel sluggish; and horribly so. I think I shall drag myself out for a run soon. Or jog. Whatever.
My only consolation lies in the fact that I can watch Life As We Know It tonight at 8, huzzah.

I doodled a poem today, yay. I've been having an awful case of writer's block; and let me tell you- it isn't pretty.

the day summer shattered

the day summer shattered
I bit the canvas from my sneakers
and murdered my dreams in pale oils
They said I was da Vinci,
just without the Mona Lisa.

I heard screaming from the kitchen-
still eleven o'clock; far too early for lunch and
no, Mary-Sue, leave me alone
no, I have no idea how to exorcise ragdolls

that day, summer plastered its obituary on the
muggy heat of afternoon radio sitcoms as
the wired jingles warped and turned sepia
and were auctioned off at a dollar apiece

the day summer shattered
polaroids yellowed like suns left out too long;
Old reruns seeped through the windows with
breakfast cereal tunes and white, white smiles
the day summer shattered.

The day summer shattered
I think I shattered too.

----

I know it's probably dead weird. But whatever- I don't really care right now, sorry.
I don't like feeling this way, I hate blogging when I'm in this kind of mood but I need to vent. Seriously.
I feel like some kind of cyborg. As if somehow I'm not truly thinking anything. Like someone took a hook thingamajig and gutted the thoughts out of me. Like what they used to do for those Pharoahs...take a hook thing and drag out their brains through the poor dead guy's nostrils, so his little bit of grey matter wouldn't be left to rot for all eternity in his cranium.

Pardon my manners if you just ate lunch.

Speaking of lunch. I've been eating so much lately ARGH. And I KNOW some of you haven't been feeling like eating much at all- and I BLAME YOU. You probably did some odd voodoo thing and passed your appetites to me.

TAKE BACK YOUR OWN APPETITES GRR. I HAVE ENOUGH OF MY OWN APPETITE THANK YOU VERY MUCH, I FULLY DO NOT NEED OTHER PEOPLE PASSING THEIR APPETITES TO ME.

I am not an appetite-sitter, people, for crying out loud.

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